The Broken Soldier
by the consulting whovian
Summary: John Watson has always seen himself as a strong man. But after Sherlock's death he is not the same man.


''No Lestrade I am fine'' John spoke as he held the phone in his trembling hands ''don't worry about me I am fine'' and with a quick motion he disconnected '' _LIAR'' _the voices spoke in his head. To be true John had no idea when they appeared, but it was not long after Sherlock… his friend.. best friend had jumped. The doctor had given up the physiatrist soon after that, she could not help him hell NO one could. Every once in a while he would see the form of Sherlock –or so he thought- the slim frame franticly pacing around, trying to solve things, or laying flat on his back hands under his chin all wrapped up in his mind palace. One time John had walked in chattering happily while he carried two cups of steaming coffee chattering that if the detective would not eat on a case at least he should drink. Only to see Sherlock's form disappear right affront of his eyes, leaving an empty chair behind. Crying he had fallen onto his knees clutching the blood stained scarf in his hands ''_God it still smelled like him'' _ Also the nightmares had come back. They were more vivid than before. A thousand times and in a thousand ways he had seen the raven haired male die. And it ended every time with him falling affront of his feet, skull cracked open and blood pouring from the wound. But atleast in those dreams he could see him again. Yes the blonde male had some good days, he even attempted –and failed- at dating again. But life without Sherlock was not living, it was just existing. _''come on John… you know you want to'' _one of the voices purred. Brown eyes staring onto the distance Johns hand absentmindedly held the blue scarf_. ''DO IT…DO IT..DEAD DEAD DEAD… HE IS DEAD … Never coming back… blood… oh god no…. so much blood'' _ The phone rang again And as John glanced sideways he saw Mycrofts name. The other Holmes was just as clever as his late brother and he had known for a while John was going downhill. No doubt the dramatic weight loss was a dead giveaway. John had noticed the worried looks, Mrs Hudson, and all the othes had given him but the doctor ignored it, he did not want sympathy. Then standing up he finally made up his mind and he walked towards the window and for the millionth time he wondered how the world could just move on? The most brilliant man ever alive was gone… everyone was now convinced he was liar and a fake.. but he was NOT! Oh if only they could see who Sherlock had truly been. And for a flash John remembered sherlocks wonderful smile. It had been rare but when the detective smiled it had lit up the room. How could they doubt him?... Moriarty had been the one who lied and deceived .. his alter ego a lie and fraud, and no one could convince John otherwise ever. A sad smile tugged the blondes lips as he remembered the way he and Sherlock had met, and how utterly surprised the dark haired male reacted at the mention of him being brilliant.. most have told him to piss off. Oh John had seen the lonely boy underneath. The boy trying to be so clever and trying help but always being pushed away. _''No wonder why he became so harsh''_ he had thought then. And after that somewhere, in a short time they had became best friends.. and Sherlock Holmes had died for him. Not only for him., but for all of them. EVEN those that did not believe in him. Uttering a pained sigh a tear trickled down his cheek. Enough he thought as the pain sliced through his soul almost knocking the breath out of him. No more. _ ''Come on .. I know you want to.. join him… Yes John.. join me'' _And johns eyes widened in shock as the last voice was the warm baritone of Sherlock. The phone rang again but the male ignored it. Grabbing a chair he stepped on it and attached the blue scarf to the ceiling _''aww jumping just like he did.. and with his scarf ..adorable''_ With trembling hands John tied the scarf into makeshift noose, making sure that it would hold him. Just as he tied it around his neck he thought he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. But as it became silent again John took one last breath and jumped. _'''Sherlock I am coming for you' _ Where his last thoughts. Oh it hurted only for a moment as immediately his neck broke. But Sherlock would not be there. John would not know that Mycroft was calling him to tell him Sherlock was on his way home… that all of Moriarty's henchmen were dead. That it was save now. John would never know that it was Sherlock coming up the stairs, and when it became silent again, the man was right behind the door nervous and anctious trying to figure out a way to come back into his best friends life after such a long time of faking his death. John would not now that Sherlock would never forgive himself for that moment of hesitance as he had to cut his limp body from the ceiling, falling to his knees tears streaming down his face cradling Johns dead body.

_How would you describe me John?_

_Resourcefull? _

_Dynamic?_

_Enigmatic_

_-LATE-_


End file.
